


Unlikely Secrets

by Joules Mer (joulesmer)



Series: Unlikely Secrets - Canonical Star Trek: Into Darkness [1]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Dadmiral Christopher Pike, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-12 11:14:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28509516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joulesmer/pseuds/Joules%20Mer
Summary: Remedial survival training, a sprained ankle, and a malfunctioning weather grid: Leonard McCoy didn’t need this shit.Christopher Pike didn’t need it either.
Relationships: Yes there will be some
Series: Unlikely Secrets - Canonical Star Trek: Into Darkness [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2175708
Comments: 144
Kudos: 101





	1. Leonard

“Dammit!”

The ankle was, unmistakably, at best severely sprained. Possibly fractured. It was already swelling under his probing fingertips. 

“Fuck!” Leonard cursed again as he encountered a shockingly tended spot, sitting back heavily on the ground as he took a gasping breath. Perfect. Just _fucking_ perfect. The regulations were clear: request a pickup and you’d have to repeat the qualification later.

One damn moment of inattention as he walked on the riverbank and he might have to spend another five godforsaken days on this sorry excuse for a training. Jim would never let him live it down— not after all his protests that, _I don’t need to do this, Jim, dammit! It’s a glorified camping trip._

Now, forlornly clutching his boot in his left hand, Leonard was forced to admit that he might have been slightly dismissive of the remedial survival training program. In his defense, it was bean-counter bullshit— the result of someone finally getting around to wondering just which courses the surviving members of the class of ‘58 hadn’t quite finished before becoming heroes of the Federation and being promoted out of the academy.

Under the purple sky of Cygnus Alpha IV, Leonard allowed himself thirty seconds of self-pity before shelving the idea of calling for help and slipping his boot, unfastened, back onto his foot. It wasn’t far to his makeshift shelter so he just gritted his teeth and gingerly made halting progress as he hobbled across the uneven ground, cursing Starfleet regulations with every step. He was a doctor, dammit, of course he’d been prioritizing his medical work in his third year.

The sun was already starting to set and without the full sack of waterlily bulbs that he’d intended to harvest, it was going to be a hungry night. “Personal log: Doctor Leonard McCoy. The planet so far appears devoid of intelligent life, present company excluded. I am four days into my enforced sojourn and have kept myself reasonably well fed and watered.” Crunching one of the tasteless tubers between his molars, he waved the stalk of the plant contemplatively and continued, “Although the cuisine itself does leave something to be desired.”

Leonard’s emergency comm gave an unexpected chirp, interrupting his pretend log entry with a breathless, “Bones—”

“Jim?” Leonard frowned. “You better not be breaking the rules, kid. I don’t want to have to do this again and—”

“Listen, Bones,” Jim’s strident tone cut him off before Leonard could get a good rant started, “the weather grid is suffering a serious malfunction— they’re pulling all the plug on the training runs and recalling everyone. We need you to get out of the valley that you’re in and back to the original drop off point.”

Glaring at his ankle in disbelief, Leonard replied sharply, “Sure, Jim, no problem. But you better have M’Benga waiting with an analgesic and an osteoregenerator when I get there.”

A half second pause that probably accompanied an indrawn breath, then, more softly, “You’re hurt?”

“Fucked up my ankle— not bad, I was fine to finish the exercise. I can make it to the beam out site, but it ain’t going to be pretty.”

“You’ve got two hours, Bones, then the weather is going to turn. Our transporters are tied up evacuating colonies closer to the equator and the atmospheric interference may prevent us using it later.” Jim was using his captain’s voice, but there was an undercurrent of more personal stress. “You going to make it?”

“Sounds like I have to.” Tone softening, Leonard added, “I can make it, Jim. I’ll see you tonight, okay?”

The slightest pause of uncertainty, then Jim’s voice returned with confidence, “I’ll have a drink ready for you. Kirk out.”

********************

Jim may have said two hours, but a wind was kicking up just a half-hour later. Leaning heavily on the branch he was using as a walking stick, Leonard spared a moment to wonder just what a “serious malfunction” of the weather grid entailed. It had started out as a warm breeze, but as it grew stronger the temperature was dropping. Fast. 

A cold gust felt like it cut right through his light clothing— the temperate zone on the planet wasn’t supposed to drop below nineteen degrees celsius even at night. Shivering, Leonard tried to pick up the pace. With any luck, the shuttle would already be waiting for him at the pick-up point.

The wind was howling by the time he made it out of the narrow valley. Back bowed by the wind, Leonard was almost bent double as he tried to make headway without losing his footing. Shivers had turned to a full body shudder that made him grit his teeth so tightly cracking one felt like a real concern. _Join Starfleet, Leonard. Request a ship posting. Follow James Trouble Kirk into the maw of the galaxy. Find yourself freezing your ass off in temperate gear in the middle of a snowstorm_. The snow was an exaggeration, but as if on cue it began to sleet. Leonard’s vocabulary contained a remarkable breadth of expletives — for the first time in his life, he was in danger of running out.

Leonard made it to the rendezvous site with twenty minutes to spare to find the other four unfortunate crewmembers huddled under a rocky overhang. As he limped to join the group, Ensign Botteya raised the hat she’d woven out of long grasses to ask, “Are you okay, Doctor McCoy?”

“Peachy,” softening, because none of this was her fault, he added, “It’s a sprain, but I’ll be fine. So long as we can get out of here.”

As if on cue, Leonard’s comm chirped and then crackled to life, “This is the transporter chief of the USS Yosemite— please stand by for early extraction. We can read all five of you at the pickup point, but the atmospheric interference is increasing. We’re going to beam down a beacon to amplify your signal and then beam you all up together. You’ll need to be within three meters of the beacon. We are losing the ability to differentiate your lifesigns.”

Thunder rumbled and lightning dashed across the sky as they counted the seconds before the air shimmered and a beacon took form in front of them. Leonard’s sigh of relief was premature— with a rumble and smack of falling rocks, the overhang above them started to give way. Botteya went down hard from a rock to the head as the others tried to leap out of the way. She wasn’t clear entirely— on one knee and looking dazed, she didn’t seem able to recognize the continued danger.

Cursing, Leonard stepped back under the overhang to grab her and _yank_ , shoving her past him and giving a hard push out towards the others. She stumbled, but was caught and dragged towards the beacon. Momentarily off-balance, Leonard went to follow only for a louder rumble to precede the whole damn ledge coming down in a _whump_ of rock and dirt.


	2. Chris

Instead of the five slightly disheveled officers he was expecting, Christopher Pike found himself confronted by four crumpled and muddied forms on the transported dais, moaning and bleeding. 

Sharply, Chris turned to the controls as he barked, “What the hell just happened?”

“I don’t know, sir!” The transporter operator was visibly rattled, which only increased Chris’ concern as he realized that McCoy wasn’t among the trainees being dragged onto gurneys. “The atmospheric interference is increasing. We could cut through it with a secondary beacon, but—” The ensign’s statement was bitten off with the realization that the medical team had rushed out of the room leaving just the two of them. She was a Rhillian— just over a meter tall and slightly built.

Cursing to himself, Chris didn’t hesitate to grab the survival pack that included a secondary beacon from beside the console and make his way up the steps to the transporter dais, cane be damned. They didn’t have time for this.

“Energize!”

The ensign gave a distressed protest of, “Admiral!” but nonetheless manipulated the controls and the transporter bay vanished in a shimmer of light.

The wind hit Chris like a physical force, almost knocking him off his feet. Sleet lashing his face, he squinted into the storm to try and make sense of the landscape. The rubble, dirt, and turf strewn at the cliff base was clear enough. 

“McCoy!”

There was no reply, and even Chris knew it would have been too much to hope for. 

“Dammit,” he swung the survival kit properly onto his back, tightening the strap one-handed as his feet slipped on the wet ground. Stumbling, he managed to get to the worst of the landslide and sure enough a flash of Starfleet temperate weather gear caught his eye. Leonard was face down, half buried in dirt. Chris uttered a prayer to deities he didn’t necessarily believe in as he reached down, brushed aside rubble, and pressed his fingers to the younger man’s neck.

He was alive. Thank fuck for that.

Quickly activating the beacon, Chris busied himself freeing McCoy from the landslide while he waited for the transporter to activate again.

And waited. 

Nothing.

Flipping open his comm, Chris was confronted by nothing but a crackle of static. “Pike to Yosemite? _Dammit!_ Yosemite, come in.” Instead of the ship, the wind responded by starting to howl, leaving him hunched over the prone form. He was beyond plan B and grasping for a plan C. Shelter— they needed to find shelter and then try to make contact with the Yosemite or the Enterprise. An edge of desperation entered his voice as he carefully rolled the other man over and repeated, “McCoy?”

Chris’ palm came away red with blood and he cursed as he discovered the head wound, bleeding freely all over the younger man’s hair and down one side of his face. A stronger gust of wind buffeted them and sent a scattering of dirt down from above. They had to move. 

McCoy was taller than him, packing more muscle, and potentially more injured than Chris had been able to discover, but they couldn’t wait for a rescue that seemed to be delayed. Grimly, he strapped the survival pack on the other man, grabbed a hand-hold, and _dragged_ towards where the cliffside looked more stable. The ground was muddy, which was hell on finding purchase for his feet, but at least meant McCoy slid along after him.

Chris was soaked to the skin before he’d made it ten meters, but he lowered his head and pressed on. He was shaking all over by the time he reached a patch of shadow that turned out to be the entrance to a cave. Nerve pain started to burn through his sacral plexus as he poked his head inside to confirm it was empty before dragging Leonard in as well.

Gasping, Chris collapsed onto the gravel and sand blanketing the floor of the cave, but couldn’t stop. Forcing himself to keep moving, he clawed open the survival pack and identified the lamp by touch. Flicking it on revealed the cave was larger than it initially appeared. Wind was still licking at them, so Chris gritted his teeth, grabbed the straps again and dragged until they rounded a bend and reached the rear wall. Lower back on fire, he returned for the lamp, then dropped heavily next to McCoy with a grunt. 

_What the fuck were you thinking?_ Scraping wet hair back from his forehead, Chris allowed himself a moment to consider the absurdity of attempting a rescue mission in his condition. Sure, he’d finally got rid of the wheelchair, but was only grudgingly cleared for this mission: equal parts reinforcing diplomatic relations after the loss of Vulcan shook the Federation to its core alongside keeping one eye on the remedial survival training sessions and confirming that Kirk’s shakedown cruise was progressing well. He’d only been in the transporter bay of the Yosemite due to being freshly beamed up from the capital city, still in his dress uniform.

Speaking of which, the heavy grey fabric was sodden and the air in the cave was no warmer than outside. Shivering violently, Chris pulled open the survival pack again and hauled out four thermal blankets and a small portable heating unit.

McCoy was pale and his skin was damp and cold, his collar further stained by blood. Going back for the medical kit, Chris pressed a bandage over the bleeding wound while he ran a scanner over the other man. Blood loss, serious concussion, borderline hypothermia, bruising… and a torn ligament in his ankle. 

The only thing he could do in that moment was wind a bandage more tightly around McCoy’s head, then start stripping off the soaked and dirty clothing.

With the worst possible timing, confused hazel eyes blinked open and the other man gave a pained gasp before his brow furrowed in confusion. “What’re you doing?” McCoy’s voice was slurred, vowels wallowing in his mouth in a way that was more head injury than accent.

Briskly, Chris replied, “Saving your ass.” 

McCoy flailed, batting at Chris’ hands where they were attempting to undo his trousers.

Ignoring the flash of pain as he backed onto his haunches, Chris took a breath and forced himself to slow down and explain, “The temperature dropped and we’re soaking wet, McCoy. We’ve got to warm up. Both of us.”

McCoy subsided with a groan that might have been pain or embarrassment and a resigned wave of his hand that Chris took as consent.

He’d just finished easing off McCoy’s trousers when the other man winced and slurred out a warning, “M’gonna be sick.” Acting fast, Chris managed to roll him over and support McCoy as he retched. 

Bile and precious little else emerged— as if he hadn’t eaten much in the last hours. Scooping up the soiled sand, Chris flung it out the mouth of the cave then returned to give McCoy small sips out of the water bottle from the survival pack.

Pained and morose, McCoy forced his eyes open as he muttered, “Sorry.”

“Pretty sure I was drooling all over myself after that last round of anesthesia— and I don’t even want to think about what you had to wash off me after I got back from that Romulan ship.” Chris could just barely make the joke, even now, but McCoy seemed to appreciate it as his lip twitched and a deep crease on his forehead relaxed. 

“Hmmmm,” the hummed acknowledgement only confirmed that McCoy wasn’t quite all there cognitively. 

Swallowing down his worry, Chris explained as he set back to work, “I need to take off your wet clothes so we can conserve heat under the blankets. Okay? I don’t know how long we’re going to be down here.”

Instead of answering, McCoy’s eyes slid shut.


	3. Leonard

Leonard’s first thought on waking was that it must have been one hell of a night.

His head was _killing_ him, and he was pressed against a warm, lean, decidedly masculine body. It felt good, and Leonard was dimly aware it had been a long time since he’d found himself in such a position. Since he’d _allowed_ himself to be in such a position.

A moment before speculation or wild hope about just what had transpired could overtake him, a hand stroked over his shoulder blade and a gravelly voice softly asked, “You back with us, McCoy?”

_Holy shit_.

That was Pike. _Admiral_ Pike. The side of Leonard’s face was pillowed just below the other man’s collarbone so their bodies were flush together. And they definitely weren’t wearing clothing. Desperately, he tried to recall what had led them to bed together, but the pounding in his head overrode his ability to think clearly.

The warm hand settled on his bare shoulder and Leonard felt his heart accelerate, only for the gesture to be followed by, “How’s your head? I was afraid to give you something that could knock you out.”

Knock him out? The inner confusion was mirrored by an inarticulate, “Whuh?” 

Leonard tried to move, but the hand pressed him in place with a soft, “Easy, don’t move.”

Unsure if this was supposed to be business or pleasure, he hedged, “Sir?”

“We’re on Cygnus Alpha IV. You were injured and the weather grid malfunctioned. We’ve been stranded for about ten hours.”

Leonard didn’t know whether he should be relieved or not. “Injured?”

“So far as I can tell, you took a small boulder to the head that rattled your brain a bit.”

Frowning, Leonard tried to will himself to be able to _think_. His ankle, he remembered doing something to that. On a training mission. But that didn’t explain Pike. 

Weakly, he heard himself ask, “Why’re you here?”

The chest underneath his cheek shook as if the older man might have briefly chuckled as he replied, “As I tried to explain earlier: someone had to save your ass.”

The motion sent a spike of pain through Leonard’s head. What the hell had happened? Focusing on what he could understand, which was the Klingon battering his temple, he said, “Can I have a painkiller?” Lordy, it sounded like he was whining.

Pike shifted underneath him, presumably to try and get a better look at Leonard as he asked, “Can you read a medical scanner?”

Leonard had absolutely no idea. Hedging, he replied, “Maybe.”

Chris shifted and there was a puff of cold air that made Leonard press more closely against the other man without thinking. Cheeks pinking in embarrassment, he made to shift away only for a scanner to be held in front of his face. Leonard squinted and his vision wavered sickeningly. The numbers seemed to rattle around until they fell into order enough for him to see that, sure enough, he’d torn a ligament in his ankle and his head had definitely met something heavy. 

“Well? You going to die on me?” It was the same morbid humor masked in pragmatism that had kept the older man going after the Narada, and in that moment Leonard appreciated it as well.

“I don’t think so.” He sighed, and closed his eyes for a moment, trying to keep nausea at bay. “It’s not good. There’s vascular injury and a small subdural hematoma. I’m okay now, easy to treat on the ship, but if it keeps growing my condition will deteriorate.”

Softly serious, Pike asked, “Can I do anything about it?”

“No,” Leonard wished he didn’t feel quite so damn tired, “but I can have a mild painkiller. There should be some in blue cartridges in the medkit.”

Pike shifted again and Leonard tried to ignore how the motion sent eye-wateringly sharp pain through his head and neck. Hell, he was just about weeping into wiry grey chest hair by the time a hypo pressed against his neck. Angels and ministers of grace— the analgesic was like a cool tide flowing over his frayed nerve endings and he’d have felt a million times better if the terminal embarrassment wasn’t threatening to take over now that the pain was gone.

Leonard didn’t feel like he could think clearly, but the fact that Pike was still doing something with the medical kit was unmistakable now that he didn’t feel he was about to vomit. “What’re you doing?”

The body half-underneath him stilled, then in a tone Leonard associated with guilty captains came the admission, “I, uh, might need some too.”

Squirming, Leonard shifted so that he could look up. In the stark light of the emergency lamp the shadows on Pike’s face were in sharp relief, and his expression was pinched with pain visible even at the odd angle. “What happened?”

Pike grimaced as he loaded a cartridge into the hypo. “Sciatica.”

“Left or right side?”

Pressing the device to his own neck, Pike grunted, “Left.”

They’d done bilateral nerve grafts after the Centaurian slug, but the left had been the most finicky. Pushing back exhaustion, Leonard tried to visualize the graft placement as he asked, “Were you caught in what happened to me? Was it a rockfall?”

“I was in the transporter bay on the Yosemite when you didn’t beam up with the rest of your cohort from the training exercise. The ones who did make it up were injured, and with the increasing atmospheric interference we needed to get a second beacon down to boost the signal.”

“And you beamed down?” The filter that was usually connected to Leonard’s mouth seemed to be inactive, because he followed that with, “Don’t you have people for that?”

“People?”

“Cocky ensigns in red shirts, primed to throw themselves into the unknown and leave me to patch them up later,” Lordy, he was on a roll, “Don’t tell me you felt obligated, or something.”

“Or something,” Pike’s voice was firm, with an undertone of amusement tempered by something more serious that Leonard couldn’t quite identify. “Get some rest. I don’t know how long we’ll be down here.”

Leonard squirmed to relieve pressure on his right arm where it was pinned in place, slinging his left further around the other man and tensing at the realization that the gesture was almost an embrace.

“It’s alright, McCoy.” Pike’s voice was calmly reassuring, with a note of something that might have been amusement. “Just get some rest.”

Leonard had a vague sense that he should protest, but he just felt so damned tired.


	4. Chris

_Or something_ was a slip, but McCoy didn’t seem to have picked up on it. Thank heavens for small mercies. Chris waited as the other man’s breathing softened in sleep, then picked up the softest hint of a snore at the end of each deep inhale. It would have been annoying if it weren’t so damn reassuring. 

He’d seen subdural hematomas before and it was enough to keep him preoccupied with anxiety as the other man slept, until, finally, the fact that he’d been awake for twenty hours was enough to tug him into a fitful sleep.

Chris woke to motion: McCoy was trying to squirm sideways without disturbing the blankets and utterly failing at both. “You okay?”

The movement stopped and the other man subsided against Chris as he admitted, “Hip’s gone numb. I need to change position. Can we sit up?”

Carefully, Chris un-tucked the blankets so that the cocoon around them loosened, breathing a silent thanks to unnamed deities that McCoy seemed coherent. The relief was almost visceral, pooling in Chris’ gut.

McCoy’s warmth retreated as he shifted up and away, taking a blanket with him as he did so.

Chris quickly wrapped another blanket around himself, noting with dismay that the portable heater only took the edge off the chill and their clothes were still wet. The wind was still audible outside of the cave; it didn’t seem like the weather grid was any more under control than when he’d first beamed down.

McCoy looked pinched and wan, as if the transition from horizontal to vertical was almost more than he could manage. He blinked in the lamplight, then asked, “Where are we?”

“A cave, not far from the beam out site.”

McCoy helped himself to the bottle of water, taking three small sips before he leaned back against the wall and regarded Chris with a perceptive eye as he said, “You still haven’t explained how you came to be playing red-shirted ensign in this rescue mission.”

Snorting at the comparison, Chris replied, “It was just me and a Rhillian in the transporter bay, so I figured you’d appreciate someone who at least had a hope of moving you.”

Eyebrow twitching in scorn or amusement, it wasn’t clear, McCoy drawled, “Well that sounds like a shocking breach of protocol.”

Chris’ lip twitched. “I’ll have a word with the person in charge.”

“Well I won’t say I’m not grateful.” The _but_ was implied. Well, fuck. There was a searching look on McCoy’s face, as if he knew something else was at play even if he didn’t understand it.

Chris hadn’t expected to be silent forever, but it had never occurred to him that the truth would come out while he was stranded in a cave wearing nothing more than a survival blanket. The other man seemed determined to wait him out, so Chris took a deep breath and admitted, “Much as I appreciate you, McCoy, I’d bring you back for Jim any day.”

The doctor was always expressive, and this moment was no different. A complex emotion crossed his face before it settled into curiosity as he asked, “For Jim?”

And here it was. Swallowing hard, there was nonetheless a husk in his voice as Chris admitted, “Because he looks at you the same way George looked at me.” The words hung in the air, like some kind of out of body experience. 

Holy fucking shit.

_Because he looks at you the same way George looked at me_.

For a moment it seemed like McCoy had forgotten how to breathe, then his jaw dropped open and his eyebrows drew together and he managed an inarticulate, “What?”

Regretting it already, with something that might have been panic clawing its way up his throat, Chris retorted, “Forget it.”

Jaw twitching, McCoy swallowed and replied just as quickly, “I don’t think I can.” He swallowed again, frowning as if his head might be paining him as he said, “Because I think you just implied that you and George Kirk had a thing, and that you think Jim and I have a thing, and I don’t know which of those I find more surprising.”

“I don’t think you and Jim have a thing.” Confronted with the skeptical expression on McCoy’s face, Chris couldn’t help but add, “I think Jim _wants_ you and him to have a thing.” It was almost petty, like a twist of the knife, but the defensive instinct was hard to suppress when emotion threatened to get the better of him. 

“Are you fucking serious?” It was disbelief rather than venom in McCoy’s tone.

“Unfortunately, yes.” But that wasn’t true either, because George Kirk had been one of the best things to happen to Chris. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he weakly asked, “Are we doing this now?”

“Do you have somewhere you’re supposed to be?”

Touché. 

Pulling the blanket more tightly around his shoulders, Chris had to will himself to sit still and not fidget. “I don’t know where to start.” Instead of anywhere particularly useful, he just kept the confessions rolling, “He was supposed to be my godson. In a very non denominational sense.” It was like ripping a bandage: getting the worst of it all out first, then explaining later.

“Jim?” Chris’ answer must have shown on his face, because McCoy’s frown deepened and he blurted, “Dammit, man. Did it ever occur to you that he might like to know that?”

It had, of course, and Chris felt a hot flash of frustration at the impossible situation he’d been in. “What would have happened? Jim showed up for the academy with bloodstains from a barroom brawl on his shirt and the weight of his father’s reputation on his shoulders. His test scores may have been off the charts but he’d been doing fuck all in Iowa. All his peers saw was the fuck all; he didn’t need more fodder for rumors that he got into the academy on anything less than his own merit. Hell, if his instructors thought I was pulling strings, they’d never have taken him seriously.” 

Chris felt emotion rising in his throat that was threatening to strangle him as he continued, “I visited when he was a baby and was told to take my ‘fleet ass out the door and never come back.” It still stung, even now. “I tried to see him again when he was twelve, turning thirteen, and when Winona finally deigned to answer my messages it was to tell me Jim was off planet living with extended family. I took leave and went to Iowa to try and confirm it and found a neighbor who said they’d sent him away almost a year ago.” The memories were still raw over a decade later. “I found him eventually, McCoy, by sheer luck, and he didn’t have a damned clue who I was.”

The doctor’s features softened, eyebrows drawing together in sympathy or concern for Chris himself. Clearing his throat, McCoy softy asked, “How did it start?”

“George was a year ahead of me at the academy. We met on a suus mahna course, then seemed to keep bumping into each other all over campus.” Chris couldn’t resist a rueful smile, “What can I say, he was hot and I wasn’t bad looking myself at that age. By second year we were dating and taking courses together. Third year we lived together. We were both so fucking young and dumb and ambitious, but we knew we felt a hell of a lot for each other. We kept it up after he graduated, and then through our first postings.”

“What happened?”

“It came to a head when I was an ensign and he was a lieutenant. We both wanted to make captain sooner rather than later. We kept accepting top postings on different ships, burning up the comm systems but not seeing each other very often. He wanted kids. I didn’t. We took a break. It didn't last— we couldn’t stay away from each other, not properly, but he’d met Winona. It was… complicated. They got married, had Sam, I wasn't fully out of the picture. Win and I, we got on well in those days.” Chris couldn’t help but smile at the memory of Winona, singing in the kitchen as they made dinner together; chasing him with a spatula when he’d sampled something before it was done; walking on the beach together on Risa. “She's a force of nature. I'd stay with them when I had leave. She knew George and I meant a lot to each other, but he’d married her. He loved her. It could have gone on for a long time like that. Maybe forever.”

“If you were close with her too, why’d she shut you out?” 

Chris had spent almost thirty years trying to come to terms with that. “Winona is a mad genius of a stellar cartographer, but she doesn’t need a starship posting for that. She can work wonders on deep space telemetry while sitting in an office in San Francisco, but George always wanted to be out there. It had caused a little tension over the years; she followed his career into space and I pursued mine, but we were always in each other’s orbit nonetheless.

“I was a lieutenant commander, the tactical officer on the Copernicus, when the Kelvin was destroyed. We hauled ass from the Laurentian frontier but the recovery mission was all over by the time we got back.” The story was getting difficult to tell, but Chris forced himself to continue, “I’d stayed with them eleven months before. They were Earthside while Winona provided engineering oversight of the plans for the beta quadrant cartographic array upgrade and George was doing a three month stint at HQ. Sam was, maybe, three or so. They’d offered George a few postings: Extending the work at HQ, command staff on a starbase, a diplomatic vessel, or deep space in the Kelvin. Winona thought they should have another kid, maybe stay on Earth or take the starbase posting. He might have been convinced, even though he’d always yearned for the stars. Perhaps if it was just going to be a break— a few years to grow their family...”

“But?”

“But then I arrived, full of stories of undiscovered nebulae and first contact and how the Copernicus had spent four days in orbit around the most beautiful planet I’d ever seen.”

A silence stretched, then McCoy stated, “You changed his mind.”

“I wasn’t trying to.” Chris honestly hadn’t been, no matter what he’d privately thought about where George belonged. “But over the course of the week I caught him looking at the stars more and more. We were all at a cabin out in the middle of nowhere, beyond the light pollution, and at night it only made the pull to be out here even more intense.”

“We said our goodbyes at the end of the week; made promises to catch up again when we next had leave. A few months later George commed, so excited to tell me he was going to have another child. Sam was on Starbase Twelve with Winona’s extended family, and they’d planned to meet there at the end of the Kelvin’s next mission. I was invited too. I’d made plans for leave; bought a gift for the new baby.” 

Chris didn’t have to continue, McCoy of all people knew what had happened next. In a low undertone the other man exhaled something between his teeth that sounded like an expression of loss and commiseration.

Voice thick, Chris only just managed to get out. “I picked the Kelvin for my dissertation because it meant I’d get the unclassified version of what happened. I needed to know; to tell everyone what George had done.” It was almost thirty years ago but damned if he wasn’t choking up as if it was recent.

“You need to tell Jim.” McCoy’s voice was soft and his face full of sympathy for Chris, but there was an undertone that made clear he wasn’t allowed to object. “You need to tell him _everything_.”

Chris gut churned at the thought of it, because it had been weighing on him for years. “I know.” The time had never seemed right. Not while Jim was a cadet; not when he was rushed into commanding the Enterprise with all eyes on him and Chris steadily advocating for him through the halls of HQ. McCoy’s gaze was burning into him, so he added, “I will.”

McCoy gave a nod of approval, that turned into a pained wince. The bandage Chris had wound around his head made for a rakish appearance, only compounded by the dirt smeared over his face and neck. He looked like a poor excuse for the subject of a rescue effort.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like shit.” McCoy fished the medical scanner out of the kit and ran it over himself, lips thinning at the result.

“Well?”

“Any idea how much longer we’ll be down here?”

“No.” He really didn’t and that meant a number of possibilities, none of them good. “The beacon is active, but the atmospheric interference must be too strong. They’ll have our position in the transporter, so could try a shuttle, but they were probably all used in the evacuation effort.” He was rambling, but couldn’t seem to stop, “They might still be pulling civilians out of the northern settlement. The Yosemite and the Enterprise— they’ll be bursting with the number of settlers that could have needed evacuation.”

McCoy didn’t look reassured. If anything, he looked more despondent. 

Chris reached out with a blanket-wrapped foot and poked the other man’s leg for emphasis as he asserted, “Jim would move heaven and earth to find you. We just have to give him time.”

“From what I’ve seen he’d do the same for you.”

_Just following orders_. He’d looked so much like George, in that moment, that Chris hadn’t been sure he was really there. It was only when Jim’s arms came around him to untie the straps that Chris had realized he really was being rescued. His own voice gravelly with exhaustion and something else, he replied, “Then we’re both lucky.” 

It was cold— too cold to be sitting across from each other and McCoy was only looking more pale with each passing minute. Pulling two emergency rations out of the pack, he tossed one to the other man. McCoy didn’t quite catch it, and his movements were sluggish as he plucked it off the cave floor and tore open the wrapper.

“My favorite,” McCoy’s nose wrinkled. “Nutritional substitute number four.” He crammed it into his mouth anyway, eating as if he just wanted it to be over with.

Chris did the same— it was largely tasteless, designed to be palatable to a wide range of species, if not strictly tasty by anyone in particular.

By the time he finished his ration, McCoy was bent over in exhaustion with an elbow on his knees.

“Leonard,” the use of his first name made the other man look up. “He’ll pick us up soon, but we’ve got to stay warm until then.”

The implication was plain, and McCoy flushed, “We on a first name basis, then?”

“Seems appropriate. Come on,” Chris shifted back onto the blankets he’d stretched out of the ground as the base for their cocoon and Leonard awkwardly shuffled over until they were pressed tightly together. Wrapping the other blankets tightly over and around them, Chris couldn’t help but think of Phil as he encouraged Leonard to settle again.

Dashing headfirst like a red-shirted ensign indeed. 

He could picture how Phil was going to roll his eyes when this was all over. How he’d hug Chris tightly even as he’d murmur, _I told you so_ and _What were you thinking?_ and _Chris, please_.

__He was ready to be back on Earth. Deep in the fiber of his being, he was ready to be back on Earth with Phil._ _


	5. Leonard

“I take back every time I accused you of being hard-headed, Bones.” Leonard blinked open gritty eyes to find Jim standing at the foot of the bed, a lopsided smile on his face as he continued, “Turns out your head isn’t nearly hard enough.”

Leonard huffed out a chuckle that made his head swim. Lordy, he was drugged up to the gills.

Squinting into the too bright medbay lights revealed Pike standing just behind Jim, and the way the admiral had his hand on Jim’s shoulder— the way Jim _let_ the admiral have a hand on his shoulder— suggested that at least something was out in the open.

His tongue felt too big for his mouth, but Leonard managed to slur out, “Y’okay, Chris?”

The older man smiled warmly, head tilted to one side as he regarded Leonard while he replied, “Your head nurse kept me under the regenerators until she was satisfied, but it’s you we were worried about.”

Jim shrugged off Pike’s hand in a way that Leonard dimly knew was significant, but couldn’t quite manage to understand.

Pike seemed to, because his expression momentarily tightened and then he added in a mild tone, “I’ll head up to the bridge and check in with Spock— make sure the spacedock crews are following the debarkation protocols.”

Jim barely turned even as he acknowledged the plan. “Thanks. Comm me—”

Pike finished, “—if we need you.” He smiled then, a small but real smile as he assured, “Don’t worry. I’m sure Spock has it under control.” With one last look towards the biobed, he left.

It was too damned confusing. Settling for what he did understand about the exchange, Leonard asked, “Spacedock?”

Jim took a step closer to the head of the bed, standing as if he didn’t quite know what to do with his hands as he explained, “We’re in Earth orbit. You’ve been out for over two days.”

Two days? What the hell had happened to him?

A step closer and the soft admission, “You scared the hell out of me, Bones.”

“Well I wasn’t exactly trying.”

“I’ll remember that next time you accuse me of the same thing.” Anticipating Leonard’s next question, Jim picked up a padd from beside the bed and handed it over: Leonard’s own medical records.

It had been closer than he’d appreciated. Much closer. Mouth suddenly dry, Leonard squinted up at Jim as he said, “He saved my life.”

“That’s what M’Benga said.” Jim shifted so he was perched on the edge of the biobed, “You wouldn’t have made it on your own. It took us too long to get you back. I was afraid we’d lost you both.” Jim’s hand was tightened around a fold in the thin medbay blanket, knuckles white where he clenched the fabric.

“Jim—” Leonard knew he wanted to say something, but he couldn’t get his sluggish thoughts in order. 

“I, ah, I beamed down to find you,” a wry smile curled the younger man’s lip as he admitted, “Spock cited four different regulations to try and keep me on the ship. You’d been out of contact for over twenty four hours, with huge storms sweeping the surface.” Jim’s too blue eyes were glowing in the start white and bright lights of the medical bay.

Chris’ words from the cave suddenly came back loud and clear: _Because he looks at you the same way George looked at me_.

No shit.

_No shit_.

“Bones?” Jim frowned, faltering in recounting his story.

“I just,” Leonard licked his lips, dissembling, “I’m a little confused, is all.”

“It’s okay,” retreating, Jim released the blanket and shifted backwards. “Don’t sweat it. M’Benga said you’d probably still be a bit out of it.” Sliding off the edge of the bed, he made an abortive move with his hand as if he was about to pat Leonard on the shoulder and then thought better of it. “I’ll tell Chris he should come down from the bridge.” Tugging his uniform into place, Jim left without a backward glance.

Leonard could only wonder, _Chris?_


	6. Chris

With a whispered, “Hey,” Chris slipped into the bed. It was late— so late it was early, well after three o’clock in the morning.

A moment, then Phil rolled over with a rustle of blankets and in a sleep roughened voice replied, “Hey yourself. Welcome home.”

Everything he’d meant to say vanished, and Chris found himself blurting out, “I told Jim.”

Phil stilled as if he wasn’t even breathing for several long seconds, then exhaled heavily and softly asked, “Everything?”

“George, Winona, looking for him. Yeah.”

A kiss was pressed to the soft skin just below Chris’ ear and Phil murmured, “And here I was getting ready to tear you a new one for jumping into a single-handed rescue with barely settled neural grafts.”

Rubbing a hand apologetically up Phil’s arm, Chris replied, “You know I couldn’t leave him down there.”

“Hmmm,” Phil hummed his agreement and hitched closer, nosing against one grey sideburn as he did so. His breath was hot on the side of Chris’ neck as he whispered, “I would have been seriously put out to lose McCoy from the med corps.”

“You and your little mentees.”

Phil snorted. “Little? McCoy’s been channeling _grumpy old man_ as long as I’ve known him. And can I remind you of your baby captain while I’m at it? Just how many times have you come to me, tearing your hair out about what Jim Kirk has done now?”

“Guilty.”

Tugging Chris closer, Phil ran his fingers through greying curls in a soothing gesture.

Settling against Phil’s chest, Chris relaxed into the loose embrace and admitted, “I, ah, spilled the beans to McCoy.”

The hand at Chris’ temple stilled and Chris missed the movement immediately. There was the slightest hint of a strain in Phil’s voice as he asked, “Which beans, exactly?”

Tilting his head invitingly, Chris replied, “That Jim is probably head-over-heels for Leonard.”

“Oh, Chris,” fondness and exasperation bled into Phil’s tone. “I saw his medical report. Was he even coherent enough to understand what you were telling him?”

Recalling Leonard’s surprise and skepticism, Chris replied, “Oh, he understood all right. At least at that moment. I have no idea what he remembers. He was pretty out of it by the time we were rescued.”

“Have you talked to him since?”

“Only a few words when Jim and I were there as he first woke up, then I went to check on the bridge to give them some time alone.” Frowning at the memory from a few hours ago. “It was weird, though: Jim popped up not long after and thought I should go back down to medbay. He was kind of insistent, until one of the spackdock crew got careless with a resupply shuttle and we had to sort that out.”

It was a lot for three in the morning, but Phil pushed back the tendrils of sleep enough to ask, “Has Jim talked to Leonard since?”

“I don’t think so?” Chris thought back, “We wrapped up maybe an hour ago and he checked his padd and mentioned the doctor had put a _do not disturb_ until the morning on Leonard’s status.”

Phil seemed to mull that over for a moment before he said, “I should do the same for your status.” Chris couldn’t hold back a snort, and it only made Phil’s arm tighten around him as the doctor continued, “I’m just glad you’re back safe. Jesus, Chris, I think I found four more grey hairs in the last three days.” They could joke about it now: in bed, together, but there was a hint of real hurt in the other man’s tone.

“I’m sorry.”

“You always are.” Phil sighed, “I’ve had twenty-two years of dealing with it.”

“I’m _really_ sorry, Phil. I know—” A finger pressed to his lips cut him off, unerringly finding them in the dark.

“It’s okay.” A rustle of blankets and Phil was somehow pressed against Chris even more tightly, “It has to be, because I wouldn’t want you any other way.” Lips brushed against Chris’ temple, followed by a caress as Phil fondly whispered, “It was the hottest thing I’d ever seen, you know, Commander Christopher Pike, hair askew, shirt torn…”

“Now you’re making fun of me.”

“...pushing past an Acamarian blockade line to deliver an impassioned speech for an immediate ceasefire. You had a child that you’d pulled out of the stampede and he was clinging to your neck, and you had him cradled in one arm the whole time and he was looking at you like you were the only thing in the universe. I saw you, with the sun hitting your hair…”

“I’ve changed my mind: keep talking.”

“...and you were breathtaking.”

“Really?” This wasn’t how Chris had thought the night would go. He’d expected a lot more grovelling.

The smile was audible in the repeated word, “Breathtaking.” Phil pressed another kiss to Chris’ temple. “Now let’s get some sleep and we can worry about the boys in the morning.”


	7. Leonard

The first thing that struck Leonard was that his head felt clear. Remarkably clear, compared to how he’d felt recently. Shifting on the bed, the tightness in his lumbar region suggested he’d been flat on his back for some time. How much time had passed?

“Leonard,” it was too loud and too bright, “good morning.”

Squinting up at his own underling, Leonard replied, “Geoff.” Accepting the proffered cup of water and taking a sip, he swallowed gratefully before adding, “Do I want to know?”

Crossing his arms over his chest, the lieutenant grinned, “Well I heard the captain going on about your hard head last night, so I guess we can skip that bit.” In response to Leonard’s snort, the junior doctor continued, “He was beside himself until we got you back, in a very genteel, collected kind of way. All twitching jaw and intense glaring at unfortunate transporter officers and weather telemetry.”

Leonard could picture it perfectly. He’d have to send Chekov a fruit basket— or a bottle of whisky.

M’Benga spared a moment to consult a monitor, then continued, “The neural repair is looking good, but I want you off-duty completely for at least four days.” When Leonard opened his mouth to protest, the other doctor played his trump card, “So it’s awfully convenient that we’ve got a week of leave while the ship is decontaminated and resupplied after our impromptu evacuation mission.” He smiled to take the sting off as he ordered, “Get some rest.”

Resigned, Leonard sighed and nodded, unwilling to admit that he was actually feeling rather tired, no matter how much he’d been sleeping. Sliding off the biobed made his head swim. Walking through the corridors in med bay pajamas was even worse. Finally reaching his quarters, he only shucked the industrial cloth for his own sweatpants before crawling into bed all over again. At least in his quarters he could sprawl out on his stomach, face pleasantly mashed into a pillow.

He dozed for a few hours in the warm bed, getting up to grab a protein bar and a cup of tea, then crawling back into bed with a medical documentary on a padd. He took back everything he’d ever said about Starfleet issue bedding— it felt heavenly. Warm. So warm after those dimly remembered hours in the cave.

Later, hours later, Leonard muzzily surfaced to an insistent chime at his door. Stretching until his joints popped, he tightened the drawstrings on his sweats just enough that they wouldn’t head south on their own and shuffled over to answer it.

“Bones!”

Jim beamed at him in the open doorway, wearing civvies that set off the blue of his eyes.

A moment as he took in Leonard’s appearance, then the younger man’s smile slipped as he observed, “You haven’t checked your messages.”

“My messages?” He hadn’t spared a thought for them. “Uh, no, I…”

Looking past him and into the room, Jim’s smile slipped further as he realized, “You were in bed. Shit, sorry, Bones. I’ll let you go back.”

“Wait—” Leonard just managed to snag Jim’s wrist and stop him leaving; the kid had obviously been expecting something different than what he had found. “What message?”

Jim didn’t try to break free. Instead, he licked his lips and admitted, “Pike messaged us. He, ah, knew you’d been released and invited us for dinner. The mess hall is shut down. We’re all supposed to head Earthside, actually. You should also have a temp quarters allocation somewhere on your padd.”

Oh— it should have occurred to him that they were expected to leave the ship. Feeling foolish, Leonard scrubbed a hand through the short hair at the back of his neck and admitted, “I didn’t really think after Geoff released me.”

“Do you need to go back to bed? I can tell them you’re remaining aboard for a while, or get a priority beam down to your assigned quarters.”

“No,” the crease of worry on Jim’s forehead made up Leonard’s mind, “come on in. I’ll get changed and pack a bag. What time are we supposed to be there?”

The reply was almost mumbled, “In twenty minutes.”

Stopping halfway across the room, Leonard spun on his heel to face the younger man as he exclaimed, “Twenty-minutes!”

“Don’t blame me for staying in bed until after 1700 hours. He probably assumed you’d want an early night.”

“And you told him we’d be there?”

Jim’s face adopted what passed for a guilty look; on his face, it was a vague and not entirely sincere expression. Leonard rolled his eyes and stabbed a finger towards his closet— “You pack while I shower.” Slapping the control for the sonics, he kicked off his sweats and only then thought to bark out, “And don’t you dare forget to fold what you put in the duffel.” He’d seen what passed for Jim’s version of packing before, and damned if he was going to spend leave in wrinkled clothes.

Thirty-two minutes later they were standing at the front door of a house outside the city. Jim seemed to be hanging back, Leonard’s duffel slung over his shoulder, in a strange reversal of roles. It was the younger man who usually navigated them through social situations.

Smoothing his hair down with a hand, Leonard took the lead and pressed the bell.

Philip Boyce opened the door.

Blinking in surprise, Leonard had the sudden, horrifying thought that they were at the wrong address. Jim seemed frozen in place as well, but maybe his head wasn’t as fixed as they’d thought and he was hallucinating some sort of out-of-body experience. “Captain Boyce?”

“Len,” The older man smiled warmly, “Jim, come on in.”

Boyce was, technically speaking, his boss. He was also so much more than that— the man had taken one look at Leonard, twenty-six hours into life at the academy, and plucked him from a purgatory of infantile cadets and given him a job at the hospital. Boyce was brilliant, unapologetically no-nonsense, and the only other person in the ‘fleet to dare call him by a nickname. Still feeling entirely off-balance, Leonard weakly managed, “You’re expecting us?” 

Amusement curled the corner of the older man’s lip. “Chris was right, you did get your head rattled.” He stepped back and sideways, invitingly, “Come on, you can drop that bag on the bench.”

There was something in the way Boyce said the name _Chris_ that made Leonard’s eyes widen in further surprise. It was fond and knowing and had so much depth behind it that the implication was unmistakable.

“Jim, hi,” Taking Leonard as a lost cause, Boyce extended a hand, “I’m Phil.”

He had to move to make room for the handshake, and the only place to go was forward, so Leonard let his feet carry him across the threshold. The entryway had two men’s jackets hanging on pegs by the door and two pairs of ‘fleet issue dress shoes— enough to suggest that, yes, Boyce wasn’t just visiting. 

Boyce shut the door behind them and Leonard could only continue further into the house, Jim’s presence right behind him. They rounded a corner into a bright and airy living room, only to be confronted by an unexpected sight: Admiral Pike, in jeans and a soft grey t-shirt with a bottle of imported beer in hand. _Chris_ mentally corrected himself. 

“Leonard, Jim, I was wondering if I have to send out a search party.” The smile he directed past them to Boyce made Leonard’s worldview squirm further sideways on its axis. “Phil, can you grab them a beer— unless you’d like something else?”

“Beer’s fine,” Jim responded so quickly he had to append, “thanks,” as if it was an afterthought, cheeks pinking in embarrassment. 

As Boyce cast an inquiring glance towards him, Leonard affirmed, “Beer sounds great.” It did too— real beer, rather than the synthesized swill that passed for it in space. Maybe a few days dirtside was just what they needed.

Chris waved them towards a pair of comfortable looking chairs, waiting for them to get settled before he asked, “Everything get sorted for reprovisioning?” The question was directed at Jim, and one calculated to put the younger man at ease. 

Sure enough, Jim took the bait and launched into a long and detailed answer. Leonard took the opportunity to examine the room: a large, well used fireplace on one wall suggested it was a popular room in cooler evenings. The mantle featured several small sculptures that looked like they came from other planets. The ceiling was mostly skylights, and the room was partially opened to the one beyond, which in turn had large windows overlooking the ocean. There were holos on the bookcase in the corner— just a little too far away to see clearly; a guitar on a stand by the window; a watercolor on the wall that looked like the east coast— it was all comfortable, in a very masculine kind of way.

Boyce reappeared with two bottles of beer, passing them over with an easy smile before dropping onto the couch _slightly_ more within Chris’ personal space than was strictly necessary given the size of the thing.

Jim’s monologue about cargo deliveries faltered, and with a glance sideways Leonard caught just how wide the younger man’s eyes had become. 

Snaking one hand across the top of the couch in Chris’ direction in a motion that might have been deliberately telegraphed, Phil plucked his own beer off a side table with his other hand and filled the pause, “So Chris here has been remarkably tight-lipped about how he came to be rescued buck naked— which is a record even for him.”

Jim’s voice seemed to jump an octave as he blurted out, “He had a blanket on.”

It would have been funny, if Leonard didn’t feel unexpectedly guilty about it. Hell, he hadn’t asked to be beaned on the head by a boulder.

“Really?” Phil’s lip twitched, “From what I read in the report it sounded like that blanket was essentially Leonard.” Turning to Chris, he raised an eyebrow appraisingly, “Did you tear your shirt? I’ll bet you tore your shirt.”

“My shirt was _pristine_.” Chris waited until his bottle was almost at his lips to mutter, “It just got soaked dragging Leonard through a snowstorm.”

Rolling his eyes, Phil leaned almost conspiratorially towards Leonard as he announced, “Command track seems to have a thing for tearing their shirts. I think they practice it in training.”

Hastily swallowing his mouthful of beer, Chris interjected, “We do not—” he had to swipe the back of his hand over his lips before imploring, “Jim, back me up here.”

“Uh,” Jim’s gaze slipped between the two older men, then flicked over to Leonard, “we don’t.” His tone rose at the end, as if it was a question as much as a statement.

The kid was still obviously off-balance by the whole situation, not that Leonard himself wasn’t as well. Swallowing his lingering surprise, and hoping his voice was more even than Jim’s, he stepped into the fray, “I dunno, you were showing a lot of collarbone after that run-in with the Agvill delegation.”

Chris snorted, “Oh, I read the report on that one. What did Spock call it? ‘A minor physical altercation’.”

Phil leaned forward in his chair, amusement dancing in his eyes as he asked, “What’d you do? Flirt with a princess?”

Flushing, Jim sounded younger than his years as he replied, “I wasn’t flirting!”

Leonard couldn’t help himself: “Oh, sure, you were just being real friendly.”

Chris laughed, in an unrestrained way Leonard had never seen before. Phil gave a sideways glance and his lip curled in an indulgent expression that only reinforced the fact that there’d been a lot Leonard hadn’t known about his mentor. 

Keeping his tone light, Leonard decided to cut through to the heart of the matter. Offering a silent word to unknown deities that he wasn’t massively misreading the situation, he asked, “Speaking of making eyes at folk, how long have you two been together?” His mother could have knocked his head for such an indelicate question, particularly as a guest. Jim made a noise as if he was choking, but Leonard ignored it.

Phil beamed, fingers stretching just a little further along the top of the sofa to brush against Chris’ shoulder as he announced, “Two decades and change.” Wagging his eyebrows, he added, “There’s something about a man in a gold shirt.”

“I wear greys now— you going to trade me in for a younger model?”

They were doing it on purpose, Leonard realized. The gentle teasing. It seemed familiar enough that it was probably a natural mode of interaction for them, but _showing_ it?   
The men had reputations amongst the academy as two of the most no-nonsense borderline hardasses in the ‘fleet. After a dressing down in his second year, Jim had come to Leonard’s dorm wailing that Pike must go to sleep in his uniform. This— this didn’t feel like the same person.

Something chimed in the kitchen and Chris motioned them up, “That’s dinner.”

The view from the dining room was spectacular. Leonard almost tripped over his own feet as he first got a good look.

Phil suddenly at his elbow made him jump: “It’s why we bought it.” The older man had a bottle of wine in one hand and waved at the windows as he explained, “Chris grew up in Mojave, but we wanted somewhere that just felt like Earth. There’s nothing quite like the Pacific.”

The house must be the furthest on the promontory, as there weren’t any other signs of human life: just an expanse of ocean horizon with gulls wheeling in the breeze and what looked like sea lions in the breaking waves below.

“It’s amazing.” So different from Georgia, but beautiful nonetheless, “Is there a beach?”

“We’ve got a little cove below us, but the stairs are steep.” Waving for the younger men to sit, Phil started pouring the wine, “We’ve got a boat shed down there, but Chris begged a beam to get the kayaks in.”

Chris himself set down plates of pasta and slid into his own chair, joining the conversation to add, “I wasn’t trying to guide them down the stairs, even when I was more nimble.”

Early evening sunlight was slanting into the room, intensity cut by an automated tint to the windows. Leonard glanced up from his plate to find Jim staring out at the ocean as he murmured, “The waves are amazing”

“You know,” Chris looked uncertain, even to Leonard’s eye. “Your dad and I used to surf.”

“Yeah?” There was a tremor in Jim’s hand as he held his fork, although he kept his tone even. The kid was listening. _Acutely_ so.

Phil stilled as well, but Chris had eyes only for Jim as he affirmed, “Yeah. We used to go away for the holidays at the academy: spring break, summer, winter. It started with Hawaii one year, but we really picked it up around here. We even surfed Risa as a break after George’s graduation. He was really good— a natural.”

“Do you—” Recognizing the issue with the question, Jim tried to course correct, “Did you—”

Knowing what was being asked, Chris cut him off before it got awkward, “I did before Vulcan. Have a few boards in the garage, but my legs aren’t up for it yet.”

The look on Phil’s face dared them to say anything that might question _yet_.

“I’ve never tried it before.” Jim looked hopeful and raw all at once. “Not much chance in Iowa.”

A silence started to linger and Leonard hurried to break it by volunteering, “I surf.”

Jim’s gaze was incredulous, “You surf?”

It wasn’t often he got to have the advantage on the younger man, so it was hard not to relish being able to say, “‘Course I do.”

“Not exactly obvious, Bones.” Jim’s expression was shifting from surprise to something else. It might even have been hurt.

The urge to wipe the expression off the kid’s face tugged hard in his chest. Ignoring the rest of the audience, Leonard admitted, “It was after the divorce.” The word still put a sour taste in his mouth, even after all these years. “There was a thirty-day period after the judgment where the lawyers were crawling all over the asset distribution to get it finalized and I just had to get away from it. I went to New Zealand and just said ‘fuck it’. Three days in I was bored out of my mind. This kid serving at a beachside bar bugged me to try it and I gave in just to get him to shut up so I could drink in peace.” He snorted at the memory. “Well, I wound up staying until my savings just about ran dry.”

“You know we’re really close to Pacifica.” There was a longing on Chris’ face even as he offered, “You could borrow my board when you’re feeling better. I’ve got a few— take Jim with you on the foamie. Show him the ropes.”

It had been years… and yet, it sounded wonderful. “We’ll do that.” Mentally skimming over his medical records, Leonard added, “Maybe in three days if the weather cooperates.”

“Really?” Jim appeared to blink back surprise, “You’d teach me to surf?”

Voice gruff with affection, Leonard affirmed, “Bout time I taught you something you’d actually pay attention to.”

“Bones, I—”

Lordy, the kid was threatening to get emotional. Leonard could only imagine what was going through his head. “I know, Jim. It’ll be fun.”

Jim’s eyes widened, but he stopped it with the explanation or apology that had been threatening to spill out.

They’d been eating the whole time and the conversation shifted to safer topics as the meal continued. It turned out that Phil had a better sense of humor that Leonard had ever appreciated, making them laugh out loud as he told stories of the latest recruits to the medical corps.

It was almost imperceptible, but Leonard had the sense that Chris was getting more quiet even as Boyce appeared to relax further. Finishing the meal appeared to be some sort of signal and the older man cleared his throat. “Come on, Jim. I’ve got something of yours.” Chris pushed back his chair with a scrape, not quite making eye contact as he said, “I don’t know what I was thinking when I kept it…”

Jim took the invitation and stood so quickly he almost upset his glass, sparing a moment to stabilize it with his hand before hurrying after the older man.

Phil pushed back his own chair and gestured for Leonard to get up as well. Curiosity alone was enough that Leonard swallowed down the concern he’d be intruding. 

Following them through a hallway, he rounded a corner into an office to find Chris carefully lifting something as if it was precious.

It was a wall hanging. Betelgusian silk— black shot through with the finest strands of silver thread. 

It was beautiful. 

“It’s Antares,” Jim looked from the delicate fabric to Chris, “Isn’t it?”

“It was supposed to go over your crib.” A glance from Phil and Chris continued, tentatively, “You know your dad could sing?” From the look on his face, Jim clearly hadn’t known that. “He was really good, actually. It was an old song even then, but still popular. Your dad, he used to get a few drinks in him and sing Beyond Antares late at night.”

Phil moved closer to stand shoulder to shoulder with Chris as he gently prodded, “Don’t pretend you didn’t play your part in that.” At Jim’s curious look, he elaborated, “Chris plays the guitar.”

“You do?” If Jim spent any more of the evening with his mouth open he was liable to catch flies.

When Chris only gave a nod, it was Phil who answered further, “I’ll bet you could dig up a holo. They used to do gigs at a dive bar in the mission— I didn’t know them at the time, but a lot of cadets used to go.”

“What bar?”

Uncertainty melted into a tentative smile as Chris replied, “The Songbird.”

Leonard was sure his expression was mirrored on Jim’s face as the younger man yelped, “You played the _Songbird_.”

The bar was legendary. Not everyone’s cup of tea, but the kind of place talked about in hushed tones of awe during plebe week. Four generations of cadets had gone through its doors, and it was said you could sometimes catch a glimpse of a ‘fleet admiral or commodore in the more private booths during live music nights. The place was all polished brass, weathered mahogany, and muted lighting. Leonard had fallen in love with it the first time he crossed the threshold and spotted what was on the top shelf.

“I was your age once, Jim.” Chris seemed to be enjoying the younger man’s disbelief, “And I’ll dig out a holo to prove it another time.” Before they could dwell on it further, he removed something else from a storage container on the desk and announced, “There’s also this.”

It was an ornate glass bottle of Aldebaran whisky. _Old_ Aldebaran whisky— Leonard felt his heart accelerate just looking at it. 

“I was going to ask George to hold onto it until your twenty-first birthday. Best keep it for your thirtieth.”

“Bones, can you—” Jim’s hands were busy with the wall hanging, so it was Leonard who stepped forward and accepted the bottle. Carefully, practically holding his breath, he shifted the transparent glass for a better grip. A faded customs duty sticker suggested that it had been aged twenty-five years in Andorian oak casks. Heavens— it would have been expensive when Jim was born and would only have increased in value over the intervening decades.

“Maybe,” Jim looked suddenly so uncertain Leonard’s stomach twisted, “Maybe you could keep it safe here until my birthday and we could open it together?”

Chris’ face skipped through a series of emotions before settling on something more tender than Leonard had ever imagined on the older man. “Sure,” Chris took back the bottle with steady hands, but there was a husk in his voice as he said, “But let’s put it somewhere to remind us what we can look forward to.” 

A significant look at Phil was enough to propel the other man into leading the way back through the house, Jim and Leonard trailing him like ducklings. Chris followed with the bottle and seemed to scrutinize the living room for a moment before purposefully moving a few items out of a display case tucked out of direct sunlight and putting the bottle in their place.

“There,” Chris turned with a half-smile that was just for Jim as he said, “I’ve managed to restrain myself from sampling it over the years, so it can wait there for a few more.”

“You realize if I’ve got a ship in the black you’re going to have to come up with an excuse for making an inspection.”

Chris’ smile turned full as he snorted, “If you think I’d have _any trouble_ telling Barnett I need to swing by your command on your thirtieth you can just watch me.”

“Hell,” Leonard couldn’t help but pipe up, “if it gets that coming to us, I’ll claim I need Phil’s expertise with whatever the xeno-virus of the week is.”

“Always knew I could count on you, Leonard.” Chris clapped him on the back. “Now come on, there was dessert to be served before I dragged you away from the table.”

Shoulder tingling with the warmth of the older man’s palm, Leonard let himself be steered back to the dining area. Settling back around the table, the bustle of Phil clearing away the dishes and serving something in the kitchen was comfortable in a way he hadn’t felt in years. Not since the first heady months of his marriage, or before, with just his own family.

Taking a sip of his wine, Leonard let himself relax into his chair as the conversation flowed. It was something he hadn’t realized he’d missed so acutely.


	8. Chris

Betazoid chocolate souffle. 

Phil was a wizard in the kitchen where desserts were concerned— he got it from his mom. Leonard’s fork dipped into the dark surface. Chris followed it up to his mouth, waiting, and _there_. It was hard not to laugh out loud at the way the other man’s eyes widened, jaw momentarily going slack before he remembered himself and swallowed.

“Oh, lordy,” Leonard turned wide-eyes at Chris, who could only point at Phil. “You made this?”

Phil shrugged, but after twenty-plus years Chris could sense the satisfaction oozing off him. Jim hastened to take a bite as well, and his face went through a similar progression as Leonard’s. It was hilarious— and something you only got to see once. All their friends knew to brace themselves for Phil’s baking.

Jim’s gaze slipped over to Leonard and the other man was already glancing sideways in expectation. They were in tune, those two, even if they didn’t appreciate it yet.

He’d surfaced from sleep, back on the cave, to find Jim leaning over them, wild-eyed in fear and disbelief. That made it twice that the kid had come for him, even if Leonard was a primary motivation. Redshirts had carried them out of the cave— protests that he could walk bitten back by the searing pain in his sacral plexus and rising fear that maybe he’d hurt himself more than he’d realized. The shuttle had been telling— Jim, vacillating between the two gurneys until Chris managed to catch his eye and say, “Go to him, son, it’s okay.”

Now, sitting around a table in the fading evening sunlight, if you’d known George it was plain to see that Jim was utterly captivated by Leonard.

It was also plain to see that Leonard was flagging, even though the night was still young. Phil had warned him that it would be an early one, and, as always, he was right.

Gently pushing his plate away, Chris inserted himself back into the conversation, “I’d offer you a coffee, but it looks like Leonard is ready to get some sleep.”

Predictably, Jim’s gaze snapped over to the other man and a little furrow of concern settled between his eyebrows.

Leonard just laughed, tiredly, as he admitted, “It’s true, even though I didn’t do anything else all day.”

“It’s good for you,” Phil’s smile was warm and knowing, “besides, you’ll want plenty of rest if you’re going to try surfing this week.”

“S’pose you’re right.” Motioning for the younger man to stand, Leonard continued, “Come on, Jim. We’d better find out where I’m supposed to be billeted.”

“A standard billet?” Phil glanced sideways in a way that suggested Chris should get with the program quickly. 

Jim had a studio apartment somewhere in the city, but it was unlikely to be big enough for the two of them. Chris knew all about close calls— the last thing either of them needed was to be sitting along in ‘fleet housing. Grabbing a padd from the sideboard, Chris logged into the ‘fleet housing intranet and skimmed down the list of vacant accommodation to book a double suite in diplomatic quarters. It wasn’t a huge abuse of privileges, there were usually some of them empty at all times, and no one would begrudge the space being used for a senior officer on medical leave. 

The padd chimed a confirmation and he looked up to find Jim and Leonard regarding him curiously, “I’ve booked you a place in the diplomatic complex in Sausalito.” The ‘you’ was deliberately ambiguous— they could figure out what to do when they saw the place. 

“Really?” Leonard blinked back exhaustion and smiled, “That sounds a hell of a lot better than whatever the computer would’ve assigned me.”

As he stood, Jim’s expression was so earnest and grateful that Chris was sure he’d done the right thing. They saw the younger men out, Jim with Leonard’s bag over his shoulder along with his own and the wall hanging carefully boxed and cradled in his hands.

They stood in the open doorway until the taxi-flitter was out of sight; Phil’s hand came up to settle warm and comforting on Chris’ shoulder as he asked, “You want a minute? I’ll do the dishes.”

“Mmmm,” humming his thanks, Chris leaned into the kiss that was pressed to the side of his head before Phil’s footsteps retreated towards the kitchen. Another moment staring into the gathering darkness, imagining he could see the flitter lights in the distance, then he closed the door.

The datachips were all backed up to a secure server, but Chris pulled them out of the locked case in his office anyways. Even after so many years, he knew which one he wanted. Inserting the orange wedge of circuitry and duraplast into his console, he braced himself for the images.

It was decades ago, but he could still remember the smell of the room, the taste of their cheap cadet wine, and the sound of George’s laughter. He didn’t want to take long— he could look more closely another time. Settling on an acceptable file, Chris pressed send before he could think twice.

He took a minute to gather himself, then made his way back to the kitchen.

Phil was at the sink, navy blue sweater rolled up to his elbows. In the final glow of the sunset he looked like the best thing Chris could imagine.

Mouth suddenly dry, Chris hovered by the door, watching the muscles in Phil’s arms flex and the little frown of concentration around his mouth. Closing in on sixty, and he could still make Chris’ heart beat a little bit faster. 

The need to be close was suddenly overwhelming and Chris’ feet seemed to take him across the floor without any conscious control, forcing Phil to set down a plate and then he was being crowded against the worktop by six feet of admiral. 

Phil kissed him back as hard as he needed it, brown eyes so kind and understanding when Chris pulled away that he had to press forward and kiss him again.

Touching their foreheads together, Chris closed his eyes and said, “I love you.”

“Love you too,” Phil laced their fingers together and gave a little tug, “You’re still recovering as well. Let’s make it an early night.” 

Chris let himself be led through the house to their bedroom, Phil holding his hand the whole way. 

“Come on,” Phil gently grasped the hem of his t-shirt, “Let’s get you to bed.”

Chris was undressed in practiced motions, then Phil guided him down into the cool sheets of their bed. A rustle of fabric then a warm body slid in behind him, pressing them together in just the right way.

Lips pressed against the short hairs at the nape of his neck, and Chris felt all the tension he’d still been carrying melt away. They were followed by a gust of breath and the soft words, “Sleep well, Chris.”

Settling his hand over Phil’s, he replied, “Sleep well.”


	9. Leonard

“Bones.”

Jim’s soft voice and the muted thump of the flitter settling on the ground broke Leonard out of a doze. Swallowing back saliva, he thickly asked, “We’re there?”

“We’re there,” Jim gently nudged his side, guiding Leonard to slide out of the vehicle as he said, “Come on, let’s see what Chris booked for you.”

In the twilight it was hard to see exactly where they were: it looked more like a villa or a townhouse than an apartment. The taxi flitter took off behind them, stranding them in the process, but the front door opened to his thumbprint so they were definitely in the right place. 

“Wow, Bones,” Jim stopped just inside the door, mouth open in appreciation, “this is amazing.”

Amazing was one word for it— enormous was another.

“Hey, Jim had already carried on past him to explore, “Check this out!”

The place had a full kitchen, living room, a smaller room with twin beds, and… the biggest master bedroom he’d seen since his honeymoon suite. The holoscreen opposite the bed felt almost as large as the flitter that dropped them off, and one wall was dominated by louvered blinds offering a view towards the water.

Jim, the infant, dropped the bags and took a running start, arcing through the air before he flopped onto the bed with an exclamation of pleasure.

Leonard followed more sedately, perching on the edge and testing the mattress with a small bounce. It was _perfect_. Flopping backwards onto the bed with a groan, he closed his eyes. He could go to sleep right there, only half on the bed. 

A rustle, and then the mattress shifted as Jim presumably clambered backwards and off the bed but Leonard couldn’t muster the energy to open his eyes.

There were footsteps, more rustling, and then something flopped onto Leonard’s chest. Pajamas. Not the ones he usually wore on the Enterprise, where there was always the risk of being summoned on duty in the dead of night, but the faded blue cotton that he’d bought on a whim his first week in San Francisco. Jim had been with him when he’d paused mid rant that day, and it had been a good one about the mandatory hand-to-hand training, and ducked into the shop with the window that caught his eye. 

The standard cadet bunks were too narrow, the basic Starfleet blankets too hot, but for some reason what bothered him the most was sleeping in pajamas that Jocelyn had bought for him. Jim, the barbarian, didn’t bother with pajamas, but he’d watched closely as Leonard selected the soft pants and thin t-shirt to go with them.

They’d been tucked carefully in his drawer on the Enterprise, saved for rare nights off duty when he just needed to relax and forget he was in a tin can hurtling through space. And Jim had looked for them— and known to pack them.

_Because he looks at you the same way George looked at me_.

Leonard’s mouth was opening to say something when Jim’s comm chimed and the moment was lost.

Jim pulled the device out of his pocket, fiddling with it for a moment before stilling completely.

“Jim?”

“Pike—” Off balance, he had to correct himself, “Chris sent me something. It’s an audio file.”

“You want to listen to it? I could—” The offer to go somewhere else wasn’t even out of his mouth before Jim must have pressed play.

It was just a guitar at first, picking out a complex string of notes that tinkled and danced. Then...

“That’s my dad.” Jim’s eyes were so wide and so blue.

Chris hadn’t exaggerated: George Kirk could sing.

Entranced, they sat side by side on the edge of the bed, comm between them. It wasn’t a long song, and it ended unceremoniously with a strummed chord and what sounded like a half-said word before the recording abruptly cut off.

Jim’s Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, almost convulsively, clearly in the grip of more emotion than he’d been ready for.

“Why don’t you stay?” Leonard was sure Jim could hear how hard his heart was beating. “Heavens only know the state of your apartment.”

“Sure,” Jim’s gaze winged around the room and settled on the door, presumably already thinking about the second bedroom.

Swallowing down a surge of nerves, Leonard slid a hand across the blanket to grip the younger man’s wrist as he said, “I mean _stay_.”

Jim froze, glancing down at his wrist with a look that might have been disbelief. “Really?”

“Yeah.” There was an unintentional gruffness in his voice that masked his own uncertainty.

Or maybe it didn’t, as Jim’s lips pressed together in a soft smile before he replied, “I’d like that.” Sliding forward on the mattress, the tip of Jim’s tongue darted out and moistened his lips.

Transfixed, Leonard could only stare as the other man got closer and closer, well into his personal space. “Bones?”

All he could do was give a little nod.

Jim’s lips were soft, but insistent. This was really happening. It wasn’t an alien spore-induced out of body experience or the lingering effects of his head injury. Jim deepened the kiss, a hand coming up to cup Leonard’s shoulder and it felt _just so good_. 

With one last press of his lips, Jim gently disengaged and observed, “You need to sleep.”

Much as he wanted to disagree, Leonard’s head was swimming with exhaustion that was only held back by a buzzing of adrenaline and arousal. Nodding, he glanced down at his crumpled pajamas, chest tightening with the thrill that Jim had known him so well. He was so distracted that Jim’s lips brushing against his temple caught him by surprise.

“Come on,” Jim’s voice trickled into his ear, “Get those on and sonic your teeth. I’ll use the guest bathroom and be right back.”

It was new levels of gentlemanly behavior from the younger man, and on another night Leonard would have protested, but he truly was exhausted. As Jim climbed off the bed and picked up his overnight bag it was almost more intimate, this easy domesticity. 

Shucking his clothes and pulling on the pajamas, Leonard quickly cleaned his teeth and swiped a washcloth over his face before crawling into what might be the most comfortable bed he’d ever had the pleasure of sleeping in. Despite trying to stay awake, he was already dozing when soft footsteps preceded the blankets being tugged aside and Jim slipping into bed.

“Are you su—”

“I am, Jim.” Rolling over, he stretched out a hand and cupped the younger man’s shoulder. 

Hitching closer, Jim reached out and placed a hand on Leonard’s waist. It felt at home there, drawing them closer together. Their breaths mingled in a way that would have been distasteful with anyone else. It was like second-year survival training, when they’d shared a too-small shelter on Diala Proxima, huddled together for warmth in a way that brought a flush to Leonard’s cheeks at the memory.

“Remember that survival training, Bones?”

Lordy, they did know each other well. In the near darkness there was only a suggestion of Jim’s face; his broad hand stroked from Leonard’s hip to the base of his ribs. A hum of affirmation was also appreciation of the contact.

“I wanted to kiss you then— I hadn’t thought of it before, not properly, but we were curled together in that terrible lean-to and the aurora was so bright and you looked so—” Words seemed to fail Jim and he trailed off with a small noise in the back of his throat.

“Why didn’t you?” It came out slurred with exhaustion, but clear enough.

“I should have.” A thumb crept under the hem of Leonard’s t-shirt, rubbing over his abs without intending to arouse. “I wanted too, but I’d only known you for a year and a half and you were about the only thing that I had at the academy. I was too scared of losing that.”

It was too hard to work out what to say to that, but Jim kept him from having to: sliding forwards, the younger man encouraged Leonard to roll over so he could curl up behind as the big spoon and press them together from thigh to shoulders.

As he drifted off, Leonard dimly heard a whispered, “I’m not scared anymore.”

***********

Mornings hadn’t felt like this in a long time.

A soft, warm bed, what could only be real sunlight causing a glow beyond his eyelids, and an arm draped around his waist.

Not just any arm either.

A slow grin spread across his face and he rolled over into the loose embrace. Jim was awake, hair in disarray and a matching smile on his lips.

“Morning,” the _g_ got lost in the lassitude of Leonard’s accent in the early sunlight and cocoon of warmth. “Sleep well?”

“I’m not letting you go, Bones,” Jim’s smile grew, “I’m going to have Scotty upgrade my quarters so we can sleep in my bed every night.”

Only Jim could say something like that, but Leonard couldn’t keep the answering smile off his face even as he replied, “Oh yeah? That’s awfully presumptuous of you.”

“It’s true though,” Jim’s hand shifted up to cup the line of Leonard’s jaw. “Isn’t it?”

“Yeah, Jim, it’s true.”

If the kid looked any more smug he was liable to spontaneously combust from it. With a snort, Leonard slid forward and pressed their lips together. It was just as good as he remembered from the night before.

Breaking the kiss to grab a quick breath, Jim murmured, “I’m so glad I don’t have to keep this from you anymore, Bones.”

Even as Jim leaned forwards for another kiss, the niggle of an implication lodged itself in Leonard’s mind. The conversations in the cave seemed like a dream, and yet there was something that had caught his attention even then. Something that was starting to feel like it might be a secret.

Uncertainty grew and gnawed at Leonard’s insides until he couldn’t help but ask, “There was something Chris said on the planet that I didn’t understand.”

“Oh?” Jim quirked an eyebrow and lightly teased, “Brain a little too rattled at the time?”

“Maybe,” Leonard tried to remember exactly what Chris had told him. The precise words were probably important, but ran the risk of Jim clamming right up. “He said that he tried to find you when you’d have been around thirteen, but you were off-world.”

Jim just _stopped_. 

As in he stilled so completely it was unclear if he was even breathing.

Leonard wasn’t sure he was breathing either. After a moment, he forced himself to ask, “Jim? Y’okay?”

The younger man started and blinked as if his brain was rebooting, before he just blurted out, “I’m one of the nine.”

“The _nine_ ,” It would have been vague, if the terrible events hadn’t been splashed over the news for months when Leonard was a teenager. He knew the stories— everyone did— but hearing Jim hadn’t just been on Tarsus, but was one of the nine witnesses.

“Hey,” Jim’s face was suddenly closer, “It’s okay, Bones.”

What? 

Nothing about this was okay. 

There was something so earnest and tender in the younger man’s face it made Leonard’s chest construct. As if trying to reassure them both, Jim insisted, “It was a long time ago. I was a kid.”

His own brain seemed to reconnect with his mouth, and Leonard managed to reply, “That doesn’t exactly make it sound any better.” The expression on Jim’s face was brittle in a way Leonard had never seen. Lifting an arm, he said, “C’mere.”

And Jim did— sliding forwards and glomming on like an octopus. He wasn’t crying, not really, but one tremor through his frame was discernible as he pressed his face to the side of Leonard’s neck.

What the hell was he supposed to do now? Similarly overwhelmed by the knowledge that, shit, Jim had been _thirteen_ , Leonard just held on and waited.

Muffled, it was hard to make out the words when Jim eventually said, “Most of the time I try to forget.” He took a steadier breath, then continued, “My interviews were always in the records as JT. It was declassified when I was twenty-five, but you’d have had to look up Tarsus or deliberately go back through my personal file to see what was added. Spock probably knows— I’m sure he considers knowing everything in his captain’s file a part of being a dutiful first officer, but he’s never mentioned it.”

It was hard to not feel a little hurt. “I wish you’d told me.”

Jim shifted then, pulling back so they could see each other as he softly said, “I’ve never told anyone.”

Something about the way that Jim said _anyone_ made a pit open in Leonard’s stomach. Tentatively, he asked, “Not ever?”

Jim shook his head, swallowing before he replied, “Never. They took statements when I was in the medical bay on the Gagarin, but I don’t remember all that much of it. Then…” Jim gave a squirm that might have been a shrug, “I never talked about it.”

“Didn’t you have counseling? Or talk with your family?” Leonard knew just enough to expect some serious dysfunction in Jim’s past, but this was beyond anything he’d ever imagined.

“They knew the facts. There was a psychologist who tried but you can imagine how that went. After I called the third one an asshole and stopped talking entirely they gave up.”

In all the time he’d known Jim, the younger man had never _stopped_ talking— Leonard had accused him of being in love with his own voice on more than one occasion.

As if sensing Leonard’s shock, there was a note of remonstration in his voice as he insisted, “I got better, Bones.”

This way of talking about it, as if Tarsus was a malady to be overcome, long in the past, just felt so viscerally wrong. And yet, he’d known Jim for years without a hint of this event that should’ve shaped him. The impulse to _make it better_ was almost overwhelming, and a common feeling where Jim was concerned, but it was entirely the wrong thing in this moment. Instead, he sidestepped it entirely to softly reply, “I’m glad I know.”

A complex expression crossed Jim’s face, as if he didn’t quite know what he was feeling until his face settled into something that mingled relief and remorse. Now that he’d started, it seemed hard to stop, “It was the first thing I did with my captain’s privileges. After we all got drinks,” 

_Got drinks_ being a euphemism for getting entirely shitfaced with Scotty in a dark hole-in-the-wall bar where they wouldn’t be recognized from the newsreels. Jim had made some vague goodnights and disappeared sometime after midnight. At the time, Leonard had assumed he was going to get laid.

“I could see more of the classified files, so I looked up Kodos. I needed to know.”

“Needed to know what, Jim?”

“What happened to him. They always said he was dead, and that’s what the file said, _presumed dead_ , but there’s still an active arrest warrant in the SI database.”

“So someone thinks he’s alive?”

“Or that he might be.” Jim licked his lips; it was a nervous gesture, one of his few tells. “I’m going to keep looking for him, Bones. Always, until it’s done.” He was saying it as if it might be a deal-breaker. As if there was some doubt about how Leonard might react.

Stretching out a hand, Leonard cupped the side of Jim’s face, grounding the younger man with the touch as he said, “It only makes me love you more.”

And, fuck, he hadn’t meant for that word to get dropped into the mix so soon, but after three years firmly in the other man’s orbit it was true.

The doubt and remorse vanished from Jim’s face and his eyes took on that shape that always accompanied friendly teasing, but perhaps now something more, as he replied, “I love you too.”

Outside of family, Leonard had only said those words to his wife before, and he doubted Jim had said them to anyone at all. 

And yet, it just felt right. 

“Come on, Jim,” a giddy sense of freedom bloomed in his chest as he suggested, “we’re officially on leave. Let’s put on your dad’s music, cook breakfast in that disgustingly well-equipped kitchen, and then we can decide whether we want to go out at all or stay in this suite all day.”

Jim huffed out a laugh, smile growing in approval of the plan, but unable to resist wagging his eyebrows as he replied, “All day?”

Leonard couldn’t resist laughing in return, and, Jesus, it was going to be like this every day, wasn’t it?

They might disagree with each other on duty, and Leonard might grumble and snarl and Jim might snipe, and the Leonard would worry and Jim would dash off into dangerous situations, and there would be infantile humor, and they both might drink a little too much at times, but underneath it all would be this. This love.

As if reading his thoughts, Jim said, “You and me, Bones? Out there, together?”

Leonard raised an eyebrow, waiting expectantly.

Jim’s expression softened as he asserted, “It’s going to be so much fun.”


End file.
